


Gone but not forgotten

by hannapalooza



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 13:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannapalooza/pseuds/hannapalooza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene prepares himself for starting his new job in London (vague A2A spoilers)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone but not forgotten

Gene sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the boxes piled around him. His life, in cardboard. Sighing heavily he poured himself a glass of fortification and vowed that tonight he would do it, tonight he would finish unpacking. He’d been in London two weeks, was starting work in the morning and he was still living out of boxes. He’d put off packing up his house in Manchester until it was almost too late and Annie had had to recruit some of her friends from the women’s department to get it all boxed up before he left. Gene had “orchestrated” efforts from the living room, enjoying playing Lord of the Manor as all the plonks had scurried around him, wrapping everything neatly in newspaper and fastidiously labelling all the boxes.

 

But now he was here, on his own, no ladies to help him. And he hated it, every time he opened a box some small thing would remind him of Sam, memories of times shared and not easily, if ever forgotten. The whisky tumbler with the nick on the rim that Sam had cut his lip on one night. The alarm clock with no glass in the face from the time Sam had thrown it against the wall like a child because he didn’t want to get out of bed. The stupid tourist trinkets that Sam insisted they buy as mementos of their weekends away, shagging in single beds and playing footsie under the table in anonymous restaurants. He only managed one box before giving up for the night and heading off to bed, picking up the alarm clock and setting it for the morning.

 

\---------------------------

 

Annie had persuaded Gene to buy some new clothes before he headed down to London and he stood after breakfast peering at himself in the full length mirror on the back of the bedroom door, a legacy of the previous owners who were far vainer than him. He caught sight of his loafers, tattered and tired, looking a little more than worse for wear. He loved those shoes; they were comfortable and sturdy, just the job for looking good and chasing down crims, but they were definitely past their best now. Reluctantly he kicked them off and started rooting through the box sitting on the bedroom floor, helpfully marked clothes and shoes. Right at the bottom was a long wide shoe box. Gene pulled it out, looking it over carefully. He didn’t recognise the name of the shop, so he sat on the edge of the bed and gingerly opened it. Nestled inside were a pair of cowboy boots, and Gene almost choked when he saw them.

 

Sam had given them to him the first Christmas he was with the team, and Gene had laughed at him for it, thinking they were a joke. Sam had shrugged resignedly but not said anything, and Gene remembered he had vanished from the pub early that night. Gene had taken the boots home and tossed them into the back of the wardrobe to be forgotten. Removing one carefully from the tissue he turned it gently in his hand and he noticed how well made they were and how much they would’ve cost Sam. He stared down at the boots; suddenly realising that Sam had brought him these before anything had happened between them, had probably spent a stupid amount of money on them too and Gene had hardly even looked at them, and had never worn them. Well he was looking now, taking in the soft grey and white leather, the delicately tooled symmetrical designs running across the toes and up the length of the sides.

 

Gene felt a sudden sharp stab of guilt and regret as he sat there, and quickly lit a cigarette to stop his hands from shaking, impatiently brushing away a couple of stray tears. By the time the cigarette was ash his decision was made. He leant forward and slowly drew on each boot. They fit perfectly as he knew they would and were surprisingly comfortable, the leather smooth and supple and fitting snugly around his calves. Taking a few brisk strides across the room he turned and looked at himself again in the mirror. He had to admit the boots looked good, peeking out at the bottom of his new grey suit. He threw his classic pose, stuffing his thumbs in his belt loops and puffing out his chest, grinning wryly at himself in the glass.

 

“Well Sammy boy” he mused as he grabbed his black cashmere overcoat and prepared to leave the flat “Seems this man is ready to become the sheriff of old London town.” And as he swaggered down to his car he felt ready to protect his new city.

**Author's Note:**

> First posted to hans_fics on LJ - 02.09.2008
> 
> Comments and concrit always welcome


End file.
